


Modern Classic

by virghoe



Category: Game Grumps
Genre: Barry is an Actor???, F/M, I reference some shakespeare, Light Smut, weird ikr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 14:46:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4880875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virghoe/pseuds/virghoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shakespeare’s cursed pen may have written this very night</p>
            </blockquote>





	Modern Classic

**Author's Note:**

> I got inspired to write this after watching a Shakespearean show a few nights back and also remembered that one tumblr post that basically outlined this story but it sounded super fake? So thats probably why this sounds a little unbelievable lmao. And i totally love hamlet so i had to work that in somehow. idk tell me how you feel
> 
> NEW TUMBLR: grumpsin.tumblr.com

Shakespeare’s cursed pen may have written this very night. He may be dotting it’s “I”s currently, in whatever cloudy pearlescent vision of heaven sticks in your head.

  
You were heading to a show tonight. You’d been begging your friend to accompany you to the production of Hamlet you’d been hearing about. A coworker’s cousin was in it, it had been featured on a morning news segment, your favorite waitress was selling concessions. You’d always been a fan of this rather wordy text, hokey as it is, you were a sucker for such simplistic and old timey themes in your plays. And this was your favorite, Hamlet always struck you in a profound way, whether it our title character’s moving monologues, in your opinion the most beautifully crafted in Shakespeare, or the drastic downfall of Ophelia’s character, something that fascinated you with each viewing.

You’d avoid confessing how much research you’d actually put in before attending tonight’s performance. You'd read up the director, set designer, hell, even the sound department. And of course the cast, and were particularly intrigued by the actor portraying the man of the hour himself, Hamlet. A “Barry Kramer”. It’s strange that someone so young, well, as youthful as he seemed to present himself, were to be casted as Hamlet. However, you were drawing all that from his head shot. He smiled widely, and you couldn’t make out his eye color in the tiny photo, but whatever his eyes were, they were enveloped in waves of wrinkles. You adored crinkle cut smiles like his. You’d be lying if you hadn’t thought about maybe trying to compliment this boy after the show, if the cast would come out to greet families and what not.  
  
You’d shake your head clear of him when pulling up to the theater. And after a stressful walk to your actual seats, on account of no type of directions to the building being displayed in the parking lot, you’d settle yourself into seats perhaps too close to the front.  
  
The music was lively, musicians (also actors) clad in renaissance era clothing plucked away at their instruments, creating a unique twangy sound to set the atmosphere. You’d recognize the songs, they were covers revamped in this unique sound. This Barry Kramer stood towards the back, plucking a ukulele to fill in high notes for a bare bones cover of some Bastille song. You tried not to stare.  
  
It was confusing when the lights didn’t go down, the show would start in full swing, and yet you could make out every single person in the crowd. Perhaps you had missed a briefing of the show’s vision when distracted by checking the last few emails you had before turning off your phone for the show. You went immediately to your playbill for answers. This company wanted to portray in Shakespearean condition, meaning a well lit audience. Also meaning seating on the stage, an offer made to you, but immediately declined. You’d be too afraid of being a distraction.  
  
You tried to jump back into the show after clearing up this error, and were immersed without much persuasion. And soon you’d be greeted with the Hamlet you’d spent so long researching. Seeing him actually act was surreal, in your mind, he was more of an idea rather than an actual human who was doing actual human acting.  
  
You could’ve sworn you saw him look at you during a scene with Horatio. It wasn’t unrealistic to think that, as was mentioned, it was well lit. I mean, this was kind of the point, to interact with audience. However, the thought got you giddy. But if you put this situation in perspective, that’s a rather pathetic reaction. A community theater actor looked at you because he is supposed to. Real Nicholas Sparks shit right here. But in your defense, you had been romanticizing the everloving fuck out of him. It was easy to be so moved at that point.  
  
You’d only try to catch his eyes more when he’d arrive back on stage, not so overtly though. His glance passed over yours often, you’d count these as victories.  
  
Eventually you’d get to the point in the night even the children in the audience (you wondered why they were there in the first place) could identify; the “To be, or not to be” speech.  
  
_“To be, or not to be- that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer”_  
  
He’d started simply enough, and you hung on the now dusty words. His glance cascaded over the crowd, he seemed to jump over you.  
  
_“To sleep- perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub! For in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil,_

 _Must give us pause.”_  
  
He was good, very good, and perhaps you were swayed a bit by your self admitted odd fascination with the man, but he obviously did the role well. You could tell it lined his skin, rather than acting as a coat he’d thrown on over his clothes.  
  
“ _The insolence of office, and the spurns that patient merit of th' unworthy takes-”_  
  
he had finally made eyes with you, and you let the corner of your lip quirk into a smile, but tried not to let it spread. While you wanted him to go on, maybe forever, you wished you could just hold this glance for a bit longer, you do anything to keep him from looking away.  
  
“ _When he himself might his qui- qu”_  
  
Apparently he shared this desire. His eyes, which I now begged to leave mine, fearful of being blamed for this mess, which _I was_ responsible for, went wide. He stuttered for a second, letting himself breathe. The character he dropped, glued himself back over Barry's form, like pieces of cracked armor mosaicked once more. He’d continue his monologue, and never look back to you for the rest of the night. You were understanding.  
  
\---

  
You chatted up your waitress friend at her concessions stand, all as the crowed seemed to disperse, you awaited your friend who was currently in the restroom, and taking her sweet time about it. While babbling with her, you barely noticed the tap he layed to your shoulder.

  
“Can I speak with you a moment?” This Hamlet, now Barry, would only walk briskly ahead of you, assuming you’d follow, and you did. You couldn’t decipher his tone, and you had spent the entire walk trying to. Down the stairs you studied his inflection, wondering if it was one of anger, it would be helpful if there _was_ one in the first place. He remained monotoned in your memory. It wasn’t fear that rested on you, but something akin to it. Before you could retrace your steps, you were stopped in front of a door marked with a large star, no name plate. You rose a brow to him, trying not to seem too accusing in your manner.

  
“I-” a nervous gulp consumed the noise he was trying to start a sentence with. He put his hands on your shoulders and kissed you, an action incredibly forward. While you had to admit you were shocked for a good period of time, you would then have a space to look to this Barry, a smile made its grand entrance now.

  
“____” you gave him your name,

  
“Barry” he returned. When a smirk filled whatever silence fell then, it would soon be cut off with a clashing of his lips to yours. With this clash, was a push through the door, which he was sure to kick closed behind him. He pushed you until a counter caught you both, a little directionless when swimming in the kiss. He allowed a gasp to break the both of you.

  
“You good?”

  
“Totally” he took this as permission to kiss you again, and lifting you to the makeup counter to sit on. This is when you’d first hear a text vibrate against the tabletop, you chose to ignore it. Rather than breaking cleanly from this new kiss, he dragged it down your chin and to your neck, sewing pecks like seeds. His hands left your waist, one gliding up to hold your neck back, and the other painting strokes across you, trying to decide what part of you he wanted to hold.

  
You made this decision for him, You’d take the hand not holding his shoulder and lead his corresponding down to your jeans, quick to pop your own button, you let him explore. Agonizingly long strokes were made, and when you finally made a moan apparent, you could feel his teeth, now in a smile, balance against the tender skin of your neck.

  
“Shut up” This was to him and coincidentally your phone, which had been receiving multiple texts through this series of events, if you wanted to be cheap about it, you could call it mood music. Whatever movements he made were stronger now, and less hesitant, he had grown comfortable.

  
All would be halted when an obnoxious ringtone echoed the walls of the dressing room.

  
“Hey”

  
“Yeah sorry”

  
“K’ I’ll be up in a sec” all were held with a sigh. After hanging up you looked up to him, he was smirking. The repetition he held with this action was endearing, you'd admit.

  
“Gotta go” you said, disappointment a rancid odor over your voice.

  
“We should pick up where we left off some time. That is, if you don’t think I’m some sort of creep” the insecurity that lay in the last part seemed to be the truest shade of himself you had seen all night, only persuading you more.

  
“I do. And I’d love to” you joked with him, his chuckled bounced in the same way your ringtone did, it made you want to join, so you did.

  
Yes this was a later work of Shakespeare’s, perhaps a bit daring an unbelievable, but charming none the less.


End file.
